


Suit, heels, hose

by i_gaze_at_scully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18491101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_gaze_at_scully/pseuds/i_gaze_at_scully
Summary: Scully goes on vacation and Mulder misses her so much that he finds a case near where she is. She begrudgingly agrees to help out, but he has to pack her a suitcase because all she has are vacation clothes.





	Suit, heels, hose

There was no antecedent for it this time. No dead daughters, no illness or injury. Things have been better lately with them, haven’t they? He racks his brain for ways he must have offended her, pissed her off, driven her away. All the way to Florida. For five whole damn days.

“Why Fort Lauderdale?” He asks as she gathers her things the Friday she’s set to leave. Reagan to Fort Lauderdale Hollywood International, flight 319, on time for departure. He checked.

“It’s cold,” she says simply. She turns her computer off, straightens a pencil on her desk, and grasps the handle of her suitcase. “I’d rather be warm.”

“Yeah but why Fort Lauderdale? Why not Tampa, or California, or–”

“You’re stalling,” she sing songs, and throws him a knowing and heart-achingly piteous look.

“I’m just a curious guy,” he says with a shrug. She’s right and they both know it.

“I’ll be back in five days,” she promises.

“Scully,” he calls as she opens the door. “Don’t forget to write.”

She smiles and clicks the door softly on her way out.

—

::Saturday::

The Knicks are on, which is good, because that buys him at least three hours. And then he’s pretty sure he has a solid three hours of legitimate work to do, catching up before Monday. He goes for a run, takes a long shower, boils an egg. Eats the egg.

He runs out of things to do and stares at his phone, drumming his fingers to keep them from reaching, from dialing, from–

Oops.

“Scully,” she answers.

“How’s it hanging, dudette?”  _I tried_ , he wants to say, hoping it’s implied.

“Mulder,” she sighs. “Do you remember the last time I went on vacation?”

Oh, definitely. There he had been, learning in real time at 37 years old that being an adult meant more than working. His empty fridge could tell him that much. And there Scully had been, on vacation, and working. “Sure, you mean when you met real life Chuckie?”

“I  _mean_ , I didn’t get a real vacation, between your calls and the case.” He mutters under his breath about her calling  _him_ , but she continues. “I’d like to just sit on a beach for a few days if that’s alright with you.”

“Are you at the beach now?”

“I’m on my way over from lunch, yes.”

“What are you wearing?” He smirks for his own benefit.

“Goodbye Mulder.” The line goes dead and he sinks back against the couch. Maybe he’ll go for another run.

—

::Sunday::

The internet is a marvelous thing. He’s able to do everything he needs right from the comfort of his own home. Find the case, book the flight, everything. He calls her from his desk chair, leaned back with his feet kicked up next to the keyboard.

“Scully,” she answers in knowing exasperation.

“Having fun in the sun yet, Scully?” 

“Mulder, no,” she groans, reading his mind and very clearly wishing she could put down the book.

“Come on Scully I could really use your help here. Just a couple of days. I fly in tonight, I’ll fly out first thing on Tuesday, I promise.”

“You already booked the flight?” She asks incredulously. He does feel a smidge bad, but only a smidge.

“Florida bound, baby,” he answers.

“Mulder you’re unbelievable, you know that? Fucking unbelievable.” Okay. Maybe he’s being an ass. He’s definitely being an ass. But…

“No you’re right, you’re right,” he sighs. “I won’t come, I don’t want to intrude on your vacation.” There’s silence on the other end and he waits, wishes she’d say something.

“What case could you possibly have found in Fort Lauderdale?”

He scrambles to pull up the article, not having anticipated any inquiry on her part. “Uh, hang on a sec. Okay, here. ‘Florida man claims attack by Myakka Skunk Ape.’” He does not pause for the huff she heaves. “‘The skunk ape is known for its orangutan appearance and foul, skunk-like stench.’ I have a file on it, Scully. Sightings have decreased since the ‘70s, but attacks have–”

“Mulder,” she cuts him off. “You’re telling me you’re going to fly down to Florida and drag me away from my margarita on the beach to chase down Florida’s swamp stunk version of Bigfoot?” He’d high tail it for the hills if he didn’t detect a slight indulgence, a teasing tone, an oh-so-Scully acquiescence in her voice.

“If you’re game. Who knows? Maybe we’ll catch the St. Augustine Monster sipping margaritas on the beach, too.” He smiles imagining that. Two lounge chairs, plenty of sunshine, quality tequila, a giant sea corpse, and Scully. Perfect.

“You’re ridiculous,” she chides, her voice much softer than before, and he knows she’s been swayed. “I don’t have any work attire with me, save for a blazer.”

“Want me to pack some stuff for you in my suitcase?”

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” she mutters to herself, half under her breath. “Suits are in my closet, heels in the hall closet, pantyhose in the dresser.” He doesn’t want to push his luck, asking if he’ll find any kidnapped shirts of his, his socks or gym shorts. All of which he knows are there in the top drawer of her dresser.

“Suit, heels, hose. Got it. And Scully?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

She exhales deeply, sweetly (he thinks, he hopes), and hangs up.

—

He lets himself in on his way to the airport, with a bit less time than he thought he had.  _Suits, heels, hose_. He deposits his suitcase in her living room and heads to the hall closet. Except, that’s not the hall closet, that’s the linen closet. Shit. He closes the door on her towels and sheets, backtracks, and finds her shoes at the bottom of the real hall closet. There are four choices, which is three too many. He bends down on his haunches, ignoring the protest from his joints, and examines the shoes more closely. Black, heeled. Also black, also heeled. Third one is black but has no heel (she said heels, right?). And another black heeled pair. He knows he’s seen her wearing black heels before. He realizes now that he doesn’t pay much attention to her shoes. He could pick her navy pencil skirt out of a line up, but the shoes… He’ll come back to those. He looks at his watch. He’ll come back to those  _quickly_.

He opens her closet and doesn’t have enough time to ponder, so he grabs a garment off the hook and checks it out. They’re pants. Pants are good, and she said she has a blazer already.  _Suit, heels, hose_. He turns on a dime to check her dresser. Opens the top drawer and smiles softly at her small but growing collection of his clothes.  _Focus, Fox_. He pushes bras (and imaginings of Scully in those bras) aside and finds a rolled up pair of pantyhose. Excellent. He doesn’t have time to pick the perfect shoes, so he goes with pair number two.  _Suit, heels, hose_. Check, check, check. He closes the lights and locks the door on his way out, Scully’s clothes in tow.

—

::Sunday night. Florida::

She picks him up from the airport and doesn’t seem entirely unhappy to see him. “One day,” she reminds him firmly when he gets in the rental car. “I’m giving you one day.”

October isn’t busy season in Florida, so Scully’s hotel is relatively empty. And it’s a hell of a lot nicer than the places they’re used to staying. She walks with him to the lobby, then balks. “I’m already checked in,” she notes. “I’m just going to head upstairs. I’m in room 212. Whenever you’re done, come drop off my clothes.” He nods and gives her a little wave as she leaves. He’s so glad he can see her eyes roll now instead of trying to picture them over the phone.

“Good evening, welcome to Fort Lauderdale,” the clerk says pleasantly. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like to book a room.” Mulder looks over his shoulder at Scully waiting for the elevator. She catches him staring. Flattening her lips and looking around with wide eyes, she bobs her head in an awkward nod. He drops his voice as the elevator dings. “Do you have anything near my partner,” he asks, motioning behind him. “In room 212?” If the clerk has any questions about this request or arrangement, she doesn’t ask. She smiles at him with pristine hospitality and types for a minute on her computer.

“Room 214 is an adjoining suite. Does that work for you?”

“Perfect.”

—

Damn, Scully has good taste in accommodations, not at all surprisingly. He wonders what it would be like to stay in a place like this every time they traveled for work. His room is devoid of mysterious carpet stains, musty comforters, and broken TV antennas. He has four, no, five pillows on his bed and a mint on the smallest pillow. Sweet touch. There’s not much to see out on his balcony at night, but the air is spectacular. He dumps his suitcase on the end of the bed and leaves it unzipped with Scully’s clothes on top. He unlocks the adjoining door, steps into the hall, and knocks on room 212.

Scully opens the door in the same clothes she picked him up in: worn jean shorts and a sweatshirt. Comfortable and carefree. A side of her she’s only recently shown him snippets of, a side he’s not sure she’s completely ready to share. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and arches an eyebrow.

“Did you bring my clothes?” She asks, and he smiles, motioning towards her room.

“May I?” She regards him with skepticism, but steps aside to let him in. “I forgot to compliment you on your hotel choice, by the way. Very nice.” He meanders around her room, noting little personal touches like her suitcase on the folding rack, her sunglasses on the nightstand.

“Mulder?” She probes. “My clothes?”

“Oh right, those,” he smiles, and turns her lock on the adjoining door. He grins wide as she buries her face in her palm.

“You’re absurd,” she mutters around her hand. “Can I please just have my clothes?”

He brings them over to her in a not so neat stack, lunging to help her catch a shoe as it falls on its way between them.

“Thank you,” she says, “and goodnight.” She pushes him back through the connecting door.

He laughs to himself and plops down onto the plush mattress, leaning over the bed to grab the TV remote from the opposite nightstand. Premium channels, too. Way to go, Scully. He finds a program on animal behavior when there’s a knock at the adjoining door. He opens it and blinks in pure shock at the sight before him.

Agent Scully, deconstructed. In her hand, the hose he brought. On her feet, one singular shoe. On her legs, the pants he seemed to get right. On her chest, a blazer. And nothing else.

“Uh,” he stutters, and he stumbles as she pushes past him into his room.

“These,” she says, laying the hose on his bed. “Are leggings. Thick winter stockings. Stockings that, even if it  _were_  cold, I would not wear under slacks. This,” she lists next, sticking out her bare foot, “is a right foot. Considering you brought me two left shoes, you will notice it is bare. Also bare,” she finishes, motioning to her chest, “is my top. I said I had a  _blaze_ r, Mulder, I didn’t bring any dress shirts on vacation.”

Fuck.

He’s stunned into a guilty silence, confused and awkwardly aroused, overwhelmed by the urge to laugh and the vital imperative not to. Scully’s poker face is impeccable, and he’s not sure if he’s getting a tongue lashing for ruining her vacation  _and_  fucking up his one job, or if she’s kidding. He really can’t tell.

“I’m really sorry, Scully.” He plays it safe, figures he’s more likely to be right if he assumes he’s wrong. “I was running late, I didn’t give it as much thought as I should have.”

She shrugs her shoulders, turns to pick the hose– _leggings_ –up off the bed. “Well,” she muses, stepping forward to drape them around his neck. “I guess you’ll just have to investigate your skunk ape alone. If you need me,” she says, smacking him lightly on the cheek, “I’ll be at the beach.” She throws a wicked grin over her shoulder and snicks the adjoining door lock behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt credit to @sportsnightnut on tumblr


End file.
